


Gifted

by inkandchocolate



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 14:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandchocolate/pseuds/inkandchocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Willow's birthday, Xander's shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifted

**Author's Note:**

> DEDICATION: Who else but the other half of my brain, ethrosdemon. We've grown frighteningly soft lately. Y'all should be afraid. Sam, for the whole vodka and love of het thing. to my grrls. Donna for her imitation of the Godfather. Jess for her brilliance which has gotten her just where she wants to be (congratulations, girlie!) And Sandy, because now she can read my stuff again.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Jonatha Brooke's Xander- song is "Glass Half Empty."

Standing in Mr. Bulky's and waiting his turn, Xander lets his eyes wander around the store. Bright colors everywhere, like being inside a stained glass factory or a box of crayons. Primary colors that scream to be noticed and demand to be heeded - Buy! Sale! Special! Makes his eyes hurt if he's there for too long, and it's getting to that point in a hell of a hurry.

He swings the plastic bag idly as he looks at the bin of overpriced stuffed animals next to him, impulse buy or bribe for the kids for the harried mother desperate to shut them up. There's an abundance of bears, some of them in hats or t-shirts with little slogans on them like 'Best Friends 4-ever' and the ubiquitous red heart between 'I' and 'You'. Xander grins, thinks 'I heart you' like he always does when he sees the stupid overused emblem.

Sighs as he hears the lady in front of him begin to argue about the cost of her gummy bears and digs his hand into the bin of acrylic fuzz and fur, pulls up a bright orange African Tree Frog, no t-shirt, hat or slogan in sight, and rubs it between his fingers, little plastic beans inside rolling around. There's a click in his head, and he gets a vivid flash of a birthday about 8 years ago, worst birthday ever.

//Willow opening the box, echoing his wide smile, pulling out the little stuffed toy with the chip inside it that went off every time it was moved. Her eyes filling with tears and her smile turning into trembling lips and a shaky chin as she drops it in horror and looks at him like he'd given her a dead puppy instead of a pink frog with psychedelic swirls of orange and purple on it. It cheerily ribbets at her as she gives a tiny sob and gets to her feet, runs into the kitchen.

Leaves him sitting there feeling like the world's biggest dork and possibly the stupidest person in history. He thought she'd laugh; it was a joke, her real present still in the box, little silver ID bracelet with 'Best Friends" on one side and "Willow" on the other. He grabs the frog and the box and hustles after her, hating himself for making her cry. Ignores Jesse's snort of amusement and low, "Way to go, dude."

"Wills, I'm sorry, it was a stupid joke." Apologizing to her even as the frog continues to make its annoying little mechanical sounds.

"I know, it's...it's OK." Sniffling bravely and swiping at her eyes as she offers up the most pathetic fake smile he's ever seen, and even at twelve years old he knows he's been a world class shit somehow and it hurts.

"No it's not, I'm really sorry. Look, here, here's the real present." Grabs the bracelet out of the box, thrusts it into her hand and feels giddy when her face breaks into a real smile, Willow-joy all over it. He hooks it for her, and she hugs him, jumping back when the frog bleats again.

"Can we get rid of that? Umm, now? Please?" Big, brown eyes and anxious expression and Xander wants to make sure he never causes her to look sad again. He grabs the cake knife from the counter, takes the frog to the trashcan and slits its furry little belly. A cascade of round, plastic beads thunder into the trashcan, and the chip dangles out of the wound, fake froggy innards. He grabs it, snaps the fragile wires and drops it into the can. But when he starts to dump in the empty fuzzy carcass, she stops him.

"Can we throw it out somewhere else? Just, you know, because of the eyes. And, well, it's dumb, but the frog fear and all..."

Grabs her hand and heads out the backdoor, across the two yards between their houses and into his own. Finds a big stick, gouges a hole into the ground under a bush in the farthest corner of the yard and shoves the remains there, pink and purple and orange gathering dirt as he pokes it down with a stick, kicks the soil over it, stamps down on the ground until it's flat again. Turns to her, triumphant grin on his face, dirt streaked on his cheek, accepts her heartfelt thanks and forgets that he's the one who scared her in the first place.//

"Sir? Do you want that stuffed animal, too?" The salesgirl's voice snaps him back to the present time, and he drops the frog into the basket, shakes his head and pays for the chocolate covered potato chips. Asks her to put them in a box and wrap it even though it's just a quarter pound, and the girl says sure and doesn't bother to charge him for the service.

Xander wanders back out to the mall, turns right for the Record Barn, fishing out the scrap of paper from his pocket that he wrote the title on. Wanders around the store until he finds the section he wants, picks up the Jonatha Brooke CD and looks at the list of songs on the back, thinking about her the last time they were at the mall together and how she'd clutched it in her hand.

//"I love her stuff, Xander, she's just so...you know?" Wide eyes under bright, red curls and she runs her nail across the lettering, plastic wrap creasing in its wake.

"She's very much 'you know,' Wills. She's the most know-y of them all. Who is she?"

Willow holding up the CD in mock exasperation, pointing to the artists' name on the cover, and intoning. "Read it, know it, live it." Shaking her finger at him before she slips it back into the bin.

"You know, there's this one song on there that makes me think about you. It's like she knows you, wrote it just special for you. I bet if you look on the liner notes, there's gonna be a dedication to Xander Harris. You'll be quasi-famous." They're off to catch the bus now, and she's just rambling like she tends to do when he isn't the one doing it instead. He tries to get her to tell him which song it is, but she refuses, teasing smile and quick peek of dimple in the corner of her mouth. The dimple disarms him, gives him a sudden and crystal clear vision of him licking that shallow crease with the tip of his tongue. So he lets the subject drop before the vision gets any clearer, any more detailed and disturbing by its very presence in his head.//

He wonders again which song it is that's all about him, ambles up to the register and pays, determined to not think about Willow's mouth curving into a smile for him, or the way that same mouth had parted so softly under his own on far too few occasions.

Cart in the middle of the mall waylays him because the lady sitting on the stool is wearing a long skirt in a familiar pattern, one that Willow has in a different color. He sees the cart is full of things that most men run away from - candles, incense sticks, vials of essential oils. Some pewter pentagrams and lots of hand worked silver rings, and on the other side of the cart are rows and rows of beaded necklaces. Waterfall of shiny glass beads draws him right in and he lets his hand whisper across them, slick and chilly under his fingertips. Sees one in there that has some amber in it the same color as Will's eyes, something red like her hair, too, and he has to buy it. Too perfect to let go, and he teases it carefully from the tangles of the other strands and hands it to the clerk without even looking at the price. Not too bad when she tells him, and he counts off the bills, sees it around her slender neck, catching all the colors and radiating them back. Takes the package and sees her lying on his navy flannel sheets wearing nothing *but* the necklace, eyes half closed, hair tangled and spread in a bright spill across the darkness, lick of flame.

Shivers once at the pull in his belly, the need to have that vision shown in full, living color, know he was the one that made her cheeks flushed, was the one who tangled the waves in her hair when he made her toss it as the tension built to release. Swallows hard and knows this is the one he'll be thinking of when he hits the shower before her party tonight and takes care of himself. Gets himself under control.

One more store, that's all, he swears. Stops at a bench and looks at the bags in his hands, full of gifts that just seem to be so logical and easy, knowing what she will like because they are two parts of the same brain, two halves of the WillowXander soul, joined somewhere and somehow that he won't ever try to understand. Doesn't want to mess with it, has grown enough to understand that there are some things that just don't like to be poked at or examined too closely. He has a momentary pang, thinks of how hard it had been to shop for Anya on her birthday, the one they chose by flipping through an almanac and letting her put her finger on a page. April second, Anya's New Birthday. He had literally asked everyone who knew her for suggestions on what to buy and ended up with flowers and candy because there was no way to *know* what was right. Dinner at a nice restaurant, and she was completely satisfied. It was simple and lacked any depth whatsoever. He felt awful then and still does now when he sees the blank journal with its thick vellum pages, midnight blue cover dotted with gold celestial symbols. Gold fountain pen to go with it, blue ink because Willow prefers it to black. A pack of multi-colored highlighters because finals are coming, and she does that color-coded note card study method. Does it with Tara now, but he'll still be part of it because he'll be color-coded marker guy. There's a little stress toy in there, too, something to keep her hands occupied when she gets frantic closer to the actual test itself. It's in the shape of a brain, and she'll laugh when she sees it; he knows she will. Last bag has a shirt in it, green long-sleeved t-shirt with an exact replica of Miss Kitty on the front. Had to buy it, there was no way to let that one go.

So really, he should stop there, embarrassment of gifty riches already, and there's not a chance in hell he can give them all over at once. He's going to have to spread it out now, drop things on her a little at a time or there'll be weird looks and hurt glances, uncomfortable for Tara and Anya to see what Willow is so oblivious to.

Gathers up the bags and heads for the last stop.

He can't remember what the scent is called. She used to wear Happy Daisy, but they stopped making that one. He has no choice but to wander around and sniff everything until he finds the Willowsmell, looking like a big, shaggy, amiable dog as he goes from display to display, dipping down to see which one is right. There's one he likes a lot, pink and sharp and flowery, plumeria, but it's not the one she wears, and he won't force it on her. He finally finds it, Pearberry, and picks up the tester to take a deep whiff, eyes closed.

//"Oh, Xander..."

Breathy sigh as he stops kissing her soft sweet mouth and slides his lips over to her ear, licks the earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, bites down slightly before releasing it. One hand on her inner thigh, the other under her shirt, breast hot and smooth under his fingers. He drags his tongue along her neck, feels her shudder, nipple hardening under his palm. Her thighs clasp tight around his own when he presses it between her legs, and no matter how much time he spent in the front seat of Cordelia's car, nothing was ever so damn hot as the way Willow's body fit against his. Nuzzles his nose into her neck, lets his hand slip to the side, thumb brushing the bud of her nipple and inhales the smell of Willow in heat. His brain locks that scent away forever, and every time he smells her now in the middle of a battle, adrenaline high and sweat glistening on her skin, he is filled with the memory of her pressed against him, almost-naked and calling his name.//

He sets the tester down, drags his shirt out of the waistband of his khakis after checking to be sure no one is looking at him, lets shirttails hide the evidence of his enthusiasm for the scent he's chosen. Grabs cologne, body wash, lotion, glitter gel, and a little bottle of antibacterial stuff that he's seen her use after getting vampdust on her hands. Drops the whole pile on the counter, refuses the offer to have it arranged in a gift basket, and asks for a big shopping bag which the lady hands over gladly since the total he spent is enough to make her give him a smile that is vaguely reminiscent of Anya's at the Magic Box whenever the door chimes and announces another customer. Drops all his bags in the big brown one, hefts it up and heads out to the mall.

Just enough money for a pretzel and a Coke, bus fare home, and he's glad the card is already bought. Hard-on is going nowhere, thanks to the smell drifting up out of the bag, pure Willow to follow him the rest of the day until he manages to get it home and wrapped up and out of his range of sensory perception.

The air outside of mall is warm, and Xander stands well away from the other people waiting. Drinks his Coke and scarfs the pretzel and wills himself to think of something else so that he won't get arrested for some weird sex law when he gets on the bus. Finally manages when the sets the bag behind him and lets Pearberry scent drift downwind.

=end=


End file.
